Midnight Cinderellas
by Guardian-381
Summary: A retelling of the events leading up to Uranus' awakening, through the eyes of Haruka and Michiru.


Dedication: To BitiumRibbon, in the name of friendship.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Sailor Moon.

**Midnight Cinderellas**

_Michiru_

You don't know me.

It's strange. I don't know what I was expecting, when I came looking for you. Perhaps I was counting on some… rush, I suppose, of recognition, of sisterhood. Perhaps I believed that my knowledge of who we were, who we are, and what we're supposed to be doing here would awaken yours by the sheer force of my desirous presence.

It's hard to believe that that's what I wanted.

I watch you circle the track from behind the chain-link fence. Your tank top is wrinkled and sweaty, your shoes are worn and dirty, but those things don't seem to matter. I note them, but only in passing, through a vestige of my artist's observation.

You push your hair from your face, and I see that you're smiling. I smile back, but of course, you don't see it. You are so focused, so driven, especially compared to the rest of the students jogging lazily entire laps behind you. I am impressed by your commitment, and then remember that I shouldn't be.

You are, after all, a Soldier. You just don't know it yet.

The next time you come around the track, you notice me, and I wonder what must be going through your mind as your eyes move over my ribbon-bound hair and navy blue dress. I am obviously out of place here, on the fringes of your world, and both of us know it. I can almost hear you asking yourself what I'm doing here, and why I seem to be paying attention to no one but you.

Suddenly, I want nothing more than to tell you.

When you turn your back to me once more, I tear myself from the fence and walk away as quickly as I can without compromising my dignity. It would not do to force this on you here, now. I have no excuse for doing so.

Loneliness is not an acceptable motive for one of our kind.

_Haruka_

I see her everywhere.

Ever since that day when she watched me practice, I've caught glimpses of her. She was in the bookstore, two aisles down from me; she was at the museum when I went to see the latest exhibition. Most of the time, I don't see enough of her to confirm her identity: it's usually just a flash of green hair, or a familiar silhouette.

That's what scares me about her: that familiarity.

I'm sure we've never met, simply because I would have remembered someone like her. I could never have forgotten that all-consuming aura of grace, or the way it makes her stand out anywhere but in the most elegant of atmospheres. I could never have forgotten her flowing movement, or that subtle smile that never completely manages to cover up the discord beneath it. All of this would have been engraved into my mind, as it is now, as I believe it always will be.

I want, more than anything, to talk with her, to know what she wants from me, what she's looking for with those piercing sidelong glances. Every time I think of acting on this desire, however, something stops me, as though I'm a blind person about to step into a subway track. I know as little of its nature as I do of hers.

I am terrified by the idea, which becomes stronger all the time, that what this girl wants from me might well involve diving into the train's path, and away from everything I know.

_Michiru_

Today, I asked Elsa to introduce me to you.

Part of me believes that this is a very bold move, and I agree. _Still, _I tell it, _the silence is approaching. She needs to know, sooner or later. She too must be having the dreams. _

I know for a fact that you're having the dreams. After all, I've been in them.

Having seen you run before, on that first day, I knew that Elsa didn't stand a chance of winning the race against you. Still, I wished her good luck before she left me at my seat and went down to the locker rooms to change. I feel sorry for her, devoting so much energy to a goal that she won't be able to accomplish.

No one can run faster than the Wind.

You are distant when I come up to you, though I see the surprise flicker across your face when you recognize me. Which memory was that recognition ignited by: the day I watched you, or the dream of silence? I don't suppose it matters, but I'd still like to know.

Perhaps that would tell me whether your feelings are meant for me, or simply another consequence of our mission.

Your entire attitude changes when I mention the Wind. As I expected, your thoughts immediately turn toward escaping from not only me, but most likely the spectre of your inevitable future that I carry with me. For some reason, the thought of you leaving fills me with panic, and I hear myself ask you to model for me, despite that excuse's transparency. Of course, you refuse, and though I dismiss the apology that Elsa offers me on your behalf, I really am hurt by the sight of your retreating back.

These few moments of proximity have transformed my loneliness into an even more ravenous void.

_Haruka_

Every night, I have the same dream.

Every night, I see her face a bit more clearly.

That vision, of the petrified world bathed in blood, is terrifying. Each time I awaken from it, I feel as though it's real, as though there will be no buildings when I look out my window, as though all that will be left of my world are ghosts and ashes.

She is the only bright spot in the dream. Like an angel's halo, her aura dispels the hopelessness, the darkness of the world around me. It cuts through my paralysis, and her words fill my heart with righteous strength. When I see her in my mind's eye, I understand why soldiers pray to victory goddesses.

I am not sure what relation this woman in my dream bears to Michiru Kaioh, if she does at all. It's possible that her wearing Michiru's face is a simple coincidence, as is often the case in dreams. However, I am unable to believe this, for the same reason that I am unable to believe that Michiru is simply a gifted artist who has become momentarily infatuated with me. There is something between us, something which feels as though it has always existed, and I am afraid to probe it too closely, lest my life be altered by my knowledge of it.

I know now why I am so good at track: I've spent my life running from things.

_Michiru_

I don't know what I'm doing here.

I step onto the cruise ship's stage and raise my violin to my shoulder beneath the politely-interested stares of my audience. My bow moves against the strings with only minimal assistance from me. This is one of the reasons I enjoy playing the violin: it gives me time to think without having to deal with the spectre of being unproductive.

This performance is a last-minute favour for a friend of my music teacher: his scheduled entertainment cancelled unexpectedly, and so I was called upon to fill in for it. I don't mind the actual performing: I got over my fear of the spotlight long ago. It's the demand on my time, this extra pull on my already-tight schedule, that I resent.

I could die tomorrow, and instead of living my life, I'm doing favours for others. Keeping their world safe doesn't seem to be satisfactory.

I open my eyes halfway through the performance, and there you are, sitting by yourself in an obviously-rented tuxedo. I close my eyes again, but I can still feel your stare on me, piercing me like a damp breeze. You won't be able to run much longer; soon, you won't be able to fight it. You will have to make your decision, and be bound by it as I have been.

I try not to envy your choice.

You leave before the performance is over: I can feel the lack of your gaze as acutely as I could its presence. As soon as I have stomached the polite applause, I replace my violin in its case and, carrying it, make my way to the place where I know you will be, sooner or later.

My intuition is correct: I have just come to rest on the steps beneath the painting that most closely approximates my vision of the silence when you begin to descend them. Almost immediately, your attention is claimed by the painting, and I rise to the landing to greet you. My violin remains on the steps, temporarily forgotten.

"Do you like it?" I ask you softly.

You look at me, with an attempt at devil-may-care grace. Of course, I can see straight through you. "Hard to believe that a girl like you has such fantasies," you reply, and though there's no venom behind the barb, I react to it.

"It's not a fantasy!" I say, far more intensely than I mean to, and you almost look apologetic. "I paint many things," I continue, more softly, "but this vision… I see it clearly. Too clearly." I glance at the painting, then back at you. "You know what I mean, don't you? You've had the dreams too."

"So what if I have?" You've become very defensive. "It has nothing to do with me. I'm Haruka Tenoh, star athlete on a national scale! The end of the world… the silence… it has nothing to do with me!" You glare at me, but I am not intimidated. "While we're on the subject, I want you to stop following me around. I want you to leave me alone. Stop… investigating me, or whatever it is you call it. Just go away."

My hands, until now folded primly in front of me, clench into fists. "Do you think I want to do this?" I ask. "Do you think I asked for it?" I meet your eyes, and will you to understand not only the inevitability of your surrender, but my regret at having to drag it from you. "I have dreams too. I want to be a violinist, an artist… Why would I do something this stupid if I didn't have to?"

You stare at me, and for a moment, I can almost believe that you pity me. Then, you turn away, and scoff. "That's your problem," you say. "I haven't agreed to do anything. Don't try to drag me into your mistake."

I let you go, and reclaim my resolve by studying my painting for a few moments. Then, I stoop to reclaim my violin and look up at the door through which you left.

"The only mistake we made was being born," I tell the darkness around it.

_Haruka_

For weeks after the encounter on the cruise ship, Michiru leaves me alone. I see her only at night, in the dream which has yet to weaken, much less abate. During the day, however, it is all too easy to forget her existence, and the curse that defines it.

Sometimes, I do feel sorry for her. It can't be easy, doing whatever she seems to think she has to. But if the end of the world is really coming, there must be someone else who can take care of it. We have scientists, armies, and governments… what can two teenage girls do that they couldn't? Wouldn't we just be wasting our time? Wouldn't we just be in the way? Wouldn't we just be dying for nothing?

People have often said that ignorance is bliss, and I have no problem with the price of that particular strain of contentment.

So, I throw myself back into sports, chiefly those involving motorcycles. The exhilaration of speed, of my helmet cleaving a path through the omnipresent wall of air before me, is all I will ever need. Damn Michiru and her crusade: no one will take my life from me.

Then, one day, after a race, I walk into the mechanic's shop to find his assistant doubled over in a corner. "Hey, are you alright?" I call as I run over to kneel beside him. "Should I call an ambulance?"

He whimpers, and lifts his hand to me as I imagine he might to a particularly sacred object. "Please…" is all he says. "Please, help me."

"Of course. What can I--" I'm cut off by his groan, and then, impossibly, he is no longer there. In his place is a creature the like of which I have only seen in movies, the like of which should not exist. But there it is, in front of me, all teeth and roiling flesh, and I have no idea what to do.

_Dream._ _This is just another dream_, is my mind's pitiful attempt at self-delusion, but I am not fooled. The question is not whether this is real, but what I should do about it. How can I defend myself against something like this?

And then, it's charging toward me, and I have no time left for consideration.

Just before it reaches me, its jaws spread impossibly wide, a flash of light blinds us both; at its center floats a small, wand-like object. I feel drawn to it, as though it is meant for me alone, as though I can do nothing else but possess it. My hand comes up, reaches out for it, and then her voice reaches my ears for the first time in weeks.

"Don't touch it!"

_Michiru_

I watch the scene unfold from outside, ignoring my desire to intervene. I want to see what you'll do, what all your brave talk of freedom and choice will come down to once your life is in danger, once the choice is between liberty and death. It may be cruel, but I will force you to choose in that way.

When I awakened, there was no one to save me.

The monster charges you. Predictably, Uranus intervenes, and your transformation device appears before you. You stare at it, so blankly, and then your hand moves up, until it's within inches of the device's handle.

Suddenly, I begin to feel differently about the entire situation. How often have I bemoaned my choice, wished anything but this wholly divided life upon myself? How often have I wanted there to be another way to save the world, one that didn't rely upon my presence as a Soldier? How, then, can I stand here and let you transform your life into a copy of mine, when there is another way, at least for you? How can I be that selfish?

"Wait." I mean to shout, but my voice barely comes out as a whisper, and your hand is still moving closer to the device. "Don't touch it!"

This time, you hear me, and the device clatters to the floor as I enter the garage. "Once you take that… you won't ever be able to go back. You'll have accepted your destiny." To underline my point, I draw my own transformation device out of my pocket, and hold it over my head. "Think hard before you make your choice."

Then, the too-familiar power of Neptune flows through me, and I prepare myself for another chapter in the series of our endless battles.

No… not ours. Mine.

The monster turns away from you to regard me as the light of my transformation fades: it seems to know enough to recognize a threat when it sees one. I wait for it to charge, sidestep easily, and send it flying into a stack of shelves with a backhand slap. The shelves fall on top of it, and I prepare myself to deliver the finishing blow.

"Stop! You can't hurt him!" You drag yourself to your feet, and I glare at you. How dare you interfere in this fight, when all you've done since we met is rebel against the idea of joining it? "He was human until a few seconds ago! You can't--"

"The silence is approaching," I remind you coldly. "If I don't stop him here, he'll kill many more people."

"But--"

"Sacrifices need to be made!" I place one hand over the jewel in the centre of my uniform. "I don't like it, but I have to do it. Can't you understand that?"

A growl makes me realize that I never did get around to finishing the monster, and I whirl around to see it charging at you. It's already too close for me to risk using Deep Submerge, and you are dodging far too slowly; you'll never get away in time, and Uranus won't be able to intervene in your defence again.

Without thinking, I dive into its path, and the monster's teeth tear through the skin of my back and left arm. The momentum of the blow propels us into the wall, and I lie sprawled in your lap for a moment, reeling from both my wounds and my total lack of a reason for incurring them. Why should I care if you die? If you don't intend to help me, you'll just be in my way.

Then, the monster is charging again, and I raise my uninjured arm toward it, despite your protest. "Deep Submerge!" I shout, and though Neptune's power answers my call as obediently as always, the effort of summoning it drags me into unconsciousness.

I can't even stay awake long enough to make sure that the monster is defeated.

_Haruka_

Once the fighting is over, I let Michiru rest in my arms. There's so much about her that I don't understand: her sudden change of heart, her willingness to kill the human within the monster to destroy it, her incredible powers. She saved my life, even though I got in her way, even though I've done nothing but ignore and deride her since we met. Now, she's unconscious, possibly dying, and all I want to ask her is "Why?".

"Haruka," she murmurs, and I lean over her so that she can see my face.

"Yes?"

Her tongue darts over her lips. "The monster…?"

"Gone. I mean…" I look over at the man against the wall, then back at her. "He turned back into a human. He's alright."

"I'm glad…" She opens her eyes, very slightly. "I'm glad you're both alright."

"Michiru…" I sigh. "Why?"

She smiles. "I couldn't let you… be dragged into my mistake." My own words, fed back to me, sting me as I suppose they must have stung her on their first utterance. "I've been on my own since I started doing this… since I became a Soldier. I suppose I was lonely. I thought that maybe, if I had someone else with me, it might be more bearable: the fighting, the responsibility. And when I found out that that someone was supposed to be you…" Her eyes open further, and I watch the light sparkle off her clear irises. "I was happy."

"Why?" I repeat.

I feel her body quiver against me as she chuckles. "I've watched you for a long time. I admire you. If things had been different, if I wasn't who I am… I always wondered what it would be like to be your friend."

"We can be friends."

She shakes her head. "No. If you're close to me, you'll be a part of this whether you want to be or not. It's better… if you stay away." Her eyes slide shut, and I panic until the sound of her soft breathing assures me that she's only sleeping.

My eyes move from Michiru to the wand, which is still lying where it fell when she stopped me from taking it. Now that I'm in no danger, I want nothing more than to leave it here, to forget it exists, to forget that monsters are real and that I was almost killed by one.

But then, I look at Michiru again. I see her wounds, gashes across her arm and back from the monster's teeth, and I know that she can't do this alone. She needs help. She needs me.

Carefully, I let her slide to the floor before I remove my jacket, roll it up, and place it under her head. Then, I stand, walk over to the wand, and study it more closely. It looks delicate, almost crystalline, and I wonder whether I'm making the right choice, whether I should just leave all this up to someone else, someone more competent, someone more willing.

I laugh at the absurdity of this latter idea. "No one wants to do this," I say to Michiru, although she probably can't hear me. "That's what you were trying to tell me, on the ship. No one wants to do this, but we have to… because we can. Because no one else can." I crouch over the wand, but despite the quivering in my fingers as I reach for it, I do not allow myself to falter.

The first brush of my fingertips against its surface puts an end to life as I know it.


End file.
